


Cat and Bag

by AshenArrow



Series: Thin Ice [9]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hockey, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Secret Identity, Surgery, Women in the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22244965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshenArrow/pseuds/AshenArrow
Summary: Cal is recovering from spinal surgery when Volkov decides to try and start shit.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Thin Ice [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545589
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Cat and Bag

December 2022 / Long-Term Injured Reserve

  


The surgery on my back goes as well as it was expected to. I’m in some crazy pain when they first wake me up, which was also expected, but the medication they give me dampens it enough so it’s tolerable the first time I’m awake for more than two minutes. Sid’s there, that time, just like he promised he would be. I told him he didn’t have to be there for the surgery and afterwards, but didn’t argue too much when he insisted. He’s the closest thing to an older brother I’ve got here in Pittsburgh. My actual brothers are busy with school and, in Aidan’s case, taking care of a baby.

The first two weeks are an absolute haze. Sam Skypes with me every night and I don’t remember a lot of what we talk about, but I’m sure nothing of substance came from my end.

Sid loads me into his car and drives me to the rink at the beginning of week three so I can see the trainers while he’s at practice. The trainers are happy with the progress I’ve made so far. Considering I couldn’t lean over to tie my shoes this morning and Sid had to do it for me, I don’t really know what they’re talking about, but I’ll take their word for it. I have an appointment with my actual doctor this week, as well, so maybe he’ll be able to offer something more descriptive than “looking good.”

I hobble my way out to the ice, lowering myself gingerly to sit on the bench. They’re running some kind of drill and I watch, mildly interested, because it’s not like I can drive myself back to Sid’s on my own right now.

“You’re alive!” Sam explains, practically slamming into the boards beside me in excitement.

I give him a mild smile.

“I am. You knew this the day I got out of surgery, Sam, you came to see me, remember?” I say slowly.

He grins back.

“Yeah, but now you’re actually fully conscious and able to hold a full conversation,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“Who says I was ever capable of holding a full conversation?”

“Ha ha,” he says, rolling his eyes. One of the coaches calls him back into the fold, and he curses, skating away hastily.

Practice goes by quickly. It drags more than it would if I was actually participating, but the guys are filing off of the ice before I even know it.

Jarry pats me lightly on the head with his blocker hand.

“Hello, baby Sid,” he greets.

“Hey, Jars,” I reply. “You keeping everyone in line while I’m gone?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Someone pranked a few of the rookies, though, so they’re on high alert right now.”

“ _Someone_?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.

He shrugs, failing to look completely innocent.

“Go shower, you smell,” I order, pulling myself carefully to my feet so I can follow behind him.

Jen catches me on my way into the locker room.

“Media’s with Sid right now,” she informs me. “You up for a few questions today?”

“Sure,” I reply, shrugging lightly.

I sit down in my stall, watching as Sid bats the media away with a verbal stick. He’s good at that. Media training did him well. I’m surprised Jen hasn’t had me kidnapped and given the same training by now considering how much uproar a lot of my interviews have caused.

They head over to me once they’re done with Sid. I’ve shut down most of my impulsive responses during interviews, so the media has gotten kind of bored with me lately. There are a few people in the back of the herd who I don’t recognize, but I ignore. That’s pretty common. They ask a couple of basic questions about how the recovery from surgery is going and the timeline for my return.

“Andre Volkov recently said on the Spittin’ Chiclets podcast that the reason for your rivalry is because you two dated back in Boston. Is this true?”

My face gets close to giving away my reaction, but I school it before that can happen.

“Absolutely not,” I say coldly. “I would have never put my career at risk for something like that.”

“Then what reason would he have to say something like that?” the man presses. The other media people are looking back and forth between him and I with varying degrees of surprise.

“I can’t say for sure. You’ll have to ask him,” I reply. A flash of recklessness rocks through me. “If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s frustrated with how terribly he’s been playing this season, and he wants the media off his ass. I’m an easy target to start drama with.”

“What makes you think you’re an easy target?” someone who’s not the slippery man in the back finally pipes up.

My lips quirk into a vicious little smile.

“Back when everyone found out I wasn’t who I said I was, I didn’t get a single question about my _hockey_ for three months. When I started to grow my hair out, every picture of me that showed it required dozens of new articles. This bullshit story Volkov told will elicit the same reaction. I don’t see that happening to anyone else in the NHL.”

None of them seem to know what to say to that. Jen, like the angel she is, appears and whisk them away before they can figure out any rebuttals. I let out a long sigh once they’re finally out of the locker room.

“This is a fucking mess,” I groan, rubbing my tired eyes. I’ve been tired for days from a combination of the medication I’m on as well as how lazy I’ve been. There isn’t much I can do except watch TV right now.

“You didn’t actually date him, did you?” Marino asks.

“No, gross,” I reply. “I was so high strung back then. I barely spent time with any of the guys on the team because I was so worried about making sure nobody found out who I really was. There was absolutely zero room for dating or fucking of any kind.”

“And now?” Marino replies.

“Well, I have Jace now. He’s different, too, because we went to high school, so he already knew who I was from the start. I’m just lucky he didn’t give me away before I managed to meet up with him and tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Wait, is this the guy who had a problem with you? The reason you asked for your trade?” Teddy pipes up.

I sigh heavily.

“Yeah,” I reply. “He was telling people I slept with his girlfriend, you know, with my nonexistent dick.”

“Damn,” Marino says. “Why would he even do that?”

I look around the locker room, noticing all the eyes on me. They’re not scrutinizing, just curious and as friendly as always. I’m still not at the point where I can just blurt out to an entire team what actually happened between Volkov and I, but I definitely think I will be eventually.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “He was worried he was gonna be sent down, he talked about it all the time. I was doing really well, so he may have just been jealous.”

“Hm,” Marino hums. The topic drops.

Sam comes up to me after he’s changed back into his normal street clothes.

“You wanna come over and bake some cookies?” he asks.

I squint back at him.

“Bake cookies?” I reply.

“Yeah,” he says with a cheeky grin. “I bought those butterscotch chips that you always look at and never buy at the store.”

“Diet plan,” I say weakly. He barks out a laugh.

“’Diet plan’” he parrots. “C’mon. I already told Sid, so now you really have no choice.”

I sigh, but allow him to help me to my feet. I’m lucky that I thought ahead and brought my medication, because I’m probably going to get lazy and end up sleeping over at Sam’s tonight.

Sam hums to the music playing on the radio the entire ride to the apartment he shares with Teddy. Teddy sits in the back seat because it’s really best that I sit up front with the situation going on with my back. He sings along with Sam, and I just shake my head when I’m poked and prodded into joining in, smiling softly. They’re adorable together.

I take all the pills I’m supposed to and drink an entire bottle of blue Gatorade once we arrive at their apartment. I lay down on their couch, flat on my back, and pass out for a good few hours. Teddy is sitting all up in Sam’s lap when I wake up a couple hours later, paying hazy attention to the Harry Potter movie playing on the TV.

“There she is,” Teddy comments once I start shifting around on the couch. “Risen from the dead.”

“I’ve bene getting pretty crappy sleep these days,” I say, sighing softly. “The medication doesn’t help.”

“They’ll start weaning you really soon,” Sam replies. “Probably after your checkup this week.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “We gonna make cookies, or what? I was promised cookies.”

“I didn’t _promise_ you cookies,” Sam replies, but Teddy hops off of his lap and Sam gets up off of the big cushy armchair they were sharing. “But let’s do it.”

I move to get up, but flail a bit at the flare of pain. I’m not really having a lot of trouble getting up from a regular sitting position, but getting up from lying flat on my back is a completely different story.

“Help please?” I say, holding out my hands. Sam grabs both of them and pull me carefully forward until I sitting straight up. “Thank you. I got it from here.”

“You’re like a turtle,” Teddy chirps, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Rude,” I say back, getting carefully to my feet to follow him.

The cookies are great. The edges on them are just on the right side of crispy, and the middles are soft and chewy. The butterscotch chips are just as great as I imagine they would be every time I’d catch sight of them in the baking aisle. I sit myself in the armchair so Teddy and Sam can take the couch, a paper plater with about four of the cookies piled onto it seated on my lap. Sam hits play on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and we all settle in.

“That’s a lot of cookies,” Sam chirps. I side-eye him, breaking one of the in half and shoving it into my mouth.

“I have an owie spine,” I reply, pouting like a child. “I’m not gonna be seeing any sort of hockey for, at the very least, four months, either. I don’t think me eating extra cookies is going to be what puts my out of shape.”

“Mmhm,” Sam hums back, running his hand through Teddy’s hair.

“You’re just jealous because you can’t eat this many,” I quip. He tosses a pillow at my head, which I catch and tuck behind my head.

_/ * \\_

  


“What time are you leaving for the airport tomorrow morning?” I ask Sidney as I load an ungodly amount of green beans and steak onto his plate. I cooked while he was doing some things with PR after practice. Sam was right when he guessed that my doctor would be stopping the heavier medication at my checkup, but it’s probably for the best. I’m less hazy and can focus a lot better, so the idea of cooking dinner for the two of us was no big deal.

“Why?”

“Oh, well, Jace asked if I’d want to come stay with him for a little while. It’s not really like I’m going to be doing much for the next couple of months, so I figured I might as well. We don’t really get to see each other during the season like this, obviously,” I explain, serving myself a plate. I like steak just as much as Sid, maybe even more, so my mouth is already watering.

“That’s a good idea,” he agrees. “Convenient we’re playing Jersey tomorrow.”

“Definitely. The whole private plane thing has totally spoiled me, Sid, it’s a problem,” I complain, sitting down beside him at the breakfast bar.

“It’s not that different,” he reasons. “Just more people.”

“Exactly,” I groan. “ _People_.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he quips, smiling as he cuts a piece of his steak and sticks it his mouth. “Are you going to be doing anything about what Volkov is going around saying?”

I sigh, picking up my knife to start cutting up my entire steak so I have something to do.

“I’m never going to file charges or get a restraining order or anything. What’s the point in coming out and telling everyone what really happened? So I can get crucified by every feminist in the country more than I already am because I chose to prioritize my hockey instead of being their perfect little advocate?” I reply, mounting up to a bit of a rant without being able to stop it. “What happens after that, then? Everyone knows and we just keep playing against each other? He just keeps playing in the league even though everyone knows? Then people will be calling for the NHL’s head for not banning him for the league, or still allowing me to play in the league, or they’ll come for me and call me a liar. There’s no winning in any situation where I do anything except grit my teeth and bear this.”

“Okay, message received, kiddo,” he says gently. “I understand. You’re right. This is a very complicated situation. There’s no right way to do this.”

“People are just going to keep asking, he’s going to keep bothering me, either directly or indirectly, and I don’t know what to do, Sid,” I say, rubbing at my tired eyes.

“I don’t know, either, Cal,” he replies. “You know we’re always here to support you. If you want to keep your image about hockey, and keep playing against him, and keep everything that happened quiet and within the circle you decide on, we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing.”

“And I can keep beating the shit out of him,” I murmur. “Is it weird that I fight him so often? Like, often enough that we’ve been pegged with the title of ‘rivalry’? Aren’t I supposed to be scared shitless of him at all times?”

“I’m not an expert, Cal, but I’m pretty sure there isn’t one way to act after something like what happened to you did,” Sid says gently.

“Yeah, I guess,” I agree, poking a piece of steak and popping it into my mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. “I think I’m just gonna leave things the way they are. Deny everything, and share a few choice words with him the next time we play Vegas.”

“If that’s the way you want to do it, I can ask Flower to make sure he goes out with a few of their guys. I don’t think you want to be alone with him, do you?”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” I agree. “That’s a good idea. You don’t think Flower would mind?”

Sid cracks a small smile.

“I don’t think Flower is gonna be happy that you want to meet up with Andre, but he’s not gonna mind, no,” he replies. “He’s the newest recruit to your inner circle, so he wants to take Volkov out just as much as the rest of us, now.”

“My ‘inner circle’,” I parrot, snorting and rolling my eyes. I guess that’s an accurate way of putting it. The ‘inner circle’ has expanded more than I ever thought it would as a rookie afraid of my own shadow.

“Yeah, it’s like a secret club,” Sid continues. “Bound together through our desire for murder and fondness for a certain center who’s really a d-man in disguise.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I, for one, have never and will never drop my gloves, nor dare engage in any kind of fight or old-style check into the boards. Never, not me, no way.”

He bursts out into his goose-like laughter and I grin back, popping another piece of steak into my mouth.

  


_/ * \\_

  


I sit next to Sam for the flight to New Jersey. He clucks around like a mother hen, arranging pillows and a couple small pillows around me in a way he deems is the most likely to keep my comfortable for the short flight. I appreciate it, though, and the concentration he exudes the entire time is endearing. Teddy coos a bit from the row behind us where he’s sitting with Turbo, secretly overloaded with love for his boyfriend.

Jace meets me at the airport, taking the backpack I brought that Sam insisted on carrying off the plane for me.

“You guys been taking care of her?” Jace asks, slinging my backpack over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” I reply before Sam has the chance to answer. “He built a nest around me before we took off.”

“Good,” Jace says, nodding approvingly. “Gold stars for everyone.”

Sam beams before turning to me. The team is waiting on him, so I feel a little bad that we’re holding them up.

“When should we expect to see you again?” he asks.

“A few months,” I reply. “I won’t be back on the ice until mid-April, best-case scenario. I’ll swing by for some games when I’m more mobile, stir up some trouble.” He grins.

“Sit in the regular seats with the fans,” he suggests. “I’d pay to see it.”

“Well then you’re going to owe me money sometime in February,” I reply. “You better get going before the flock leaves you behind, Tafferty.” His face screws up a bit at the nickname I came up with a little while ago, the name purely born out of the fact that his last name “Lafferty” reminds me of the candy Laffy Taffy.

He heads off to join the rest of the team, who wave a little like I’m their daughter embarking on her first adventure all on her own.

“You up to go out to eat, or would you rather head straight back and order in?” Jace asks as we wait for our Uber. It’s easier to get someone to drive instead of struggling to find parking in this situation.

“I think I’ll be okay going out,” I reply. “Can we maybe get burritos?” I add quietly.

He laughs and nods, adjusting his hold on the strap of my backpack that’s slung over his shoulder.

“So Chipotle?” he replies.

I snort, a blush spreading across my cheeks. We both make so much money, get paid to do the thing we love most in the world, and I still eat like I’m a poor college student. I’ve been dragged out to more expensive restaurants by Segs and even some of the Pens, but it never felt quite right.

“Yes, please,” I agree.

“S’a good choice,” he says, poking me on the nose. “You gonna get a real burrito, or a bowl?”

“Probably a bowl,” I say sheepishly. “But I’m gonna get sour cream, so it all evens out.”

He snorts.

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs, pressing closer. “I love you so much.”

I let out a surprised little noise. We don’t say “I love you” very often, especially not when we’re discussing something as arbitrary as our burrito habits.

“I love you, more,” I say back, smiling softly.

“Impossible,” he jokes.

“You’re easy to love,” I say seriously. “I’m…a little complicated, right? Harder to like.”

His face gets really serious, the playful expression falling right off of his face.

“You’re not hard to like, Cal,” he says. “That’s ridiculous. Who told you that?”

“Nobody told me that,” I say, heaving out a sigh. “I just know.”  
“ _Cal_ ,” he begins, but then our Uber arrives, so the conversation is cut off right there. An Uber isn’t the place to talk about love and the personality faults. It’s a quiet ride to the nearest Chipotle, which isn’t too out of the ordinary. There’s always a risk of having our privacy violated in our position, so chatting in Ubers isn’t something we do often.

We order our food and find the most secluded table to eat at that we can, which is admittedly difficult considering we’re in a Chipotle. Nobody really pays us any mind, though, so it thankfully doesn’t matter.

“Do you remember when you invited me back to the room you were sharing with Sid during your rookie year?” he says, biting into his burrito. I nod, unsure of why he’s bringing it up. “We had become super close friends so fast, so when you said you wanted more, I didn’t even have to hesitate, really, not in my head.”

“I came with all these instructions and warning stickers, Jay, they can’t be easy to keep track of,” I argue, stabbing at my burrito bowl with a plastic fork.

“They’re a part of you, Cal. They don’t bother me. Everyone comes with those metaphorical set of instructions.”

“But I have a bunch of extra ones,” I insist. “You could be with someone so much simpler.”

“I _could_ be, you’re right, but I don’t _want_ to.”

“You should,” I snip, taking a bite just so I have something to do.

“Are you trying to tell me what I want?” he says, frustration finally bleeding into his voice.

I grimace, digging around in my bowl with my fork. The one thing Jace has never done is try to tell me what it is that I want, even though all the bullshit that’s been thrown my way.

“No,” I say finally after a long, suffering silence. “I’m not. I think you deserve an out, though, because there’s going to come a time, probably very soon, really, when people are going to shove their noses fully into their business and make a big fuss. I’m a more difficult option than some pretty blonde who can give you kids and take them to your games in her WAG jacket.”

“Well I don’t _want_ that, Callie. Christ, we’ve been together for three years. I wanna fucking marry you,” he hisses. My mouth drops open a little, a tiny “o,” all on its own.

“Oh,” I say stupidly.

He swipes a hand down his face before grabbing onto my own with this serious look in his eyes.

“Please don’t propose to me in a Chipotle,” I say without thinking. His serious expression dissolves into a wobbly smile before we’re suddenly laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he says once we’ve managed to compose ourselves. “But seriously. I want you, and that’s not going to change. It’s not that hard to tell the media to go fuck themselves, bébé, I do it all the time and they don’t even realize it until later on.”

I smile, wiping the tears left over from laughter away from my eyes.

“Okay,” I finally concede. “Let’s put a pin the whole marriage thing, though.”

“Multiple pins,” he agrees, nodding seriously.

“But we’ll come back to them,” I add. “Or else I’m trading you to Arizona.”

He’s laughing again, and then so am I. Everything’s okay.


End file.
